


Too Many Flowers

by EmilyElm



Series: It All Falls Down [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: And is salty about Will and Hannibal, Bedelia has a mouth, Breast Feeding Kink, Fluid Sexuality, Hannibal and Will have new identities, In its head canon universe of S4, M/M, Medical Trauma, Multi, Other, This is post finale, Took some lines from the book "Hannibal -- Thanks Thomas Harris, fingers crossed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-01 08:21:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5198855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmilyElm/pseuds/EmilyElm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 4 AU.  This could serve as Part 2 to The Lion and His Cage (if I figure out how to do a series).<br/>Bedelia and Frederick become allies and concoct their own profile on how to find Will and Hannibal.  Frederick discovers where the beautiful couple has been hiding and the two have a forced separation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mother Breast-Fed

The media invasion is the first tip-off. From his perch at the window of the burn unit, Frederick Chilton witnesses the storm gathering below. And then the 2nd appears, darkening his vision. 

Even from his 5th story distance, the flaming crown of Freddie Lounds’ hair stands out in a crowd.

He isn’t positive he wants anyone to see him this unfinished, to smell the way the stench of burned flesh still clings to him after several surgeries, but opportunity has a way of presenting itself and this is one if he ever saw it.

Bedelia Du Maurier’s face is plastered across every news outlet. They are calling it a mysterious accident and being vague about the details. The only one who’s calling it for what it is is Tattlecrime. An attack. By none other than Hannibal Lecter.

And then he watches as the FBI pulls up to the hospital. Jack Crawford marches in first with his agents. Alana Bloom and her investigators fan out, waiting to step in after their departure.

Frederick has his way of getting around the wards. If he’s learned anything since becoming a hospital patient on multiple occasions, it is to make friends with the orderlies. Always smile at the people pushing you into surgery. Always learn the names of the folks who have to clean up after you when you don’t make it to the bathroom. You never know when you need to ask them for something and they in turn need to ask you. 

He is parked in the hallway across from Bedelia’s room, watching and waiting his turn. Jack and Alana no longer recognize Frederick. Like everyone else, they catch a glimpse, and politely look away. Frederick has learned to hate the gawking and the politesse. He can hear Hannibal’s voice mock and bounce in the hall: ugly, ugly, ugly. 

Bedelia’s monitors are still beeping when he enters. Whatever was done to her isn’t life-threatening. Her eyes are open. Clear. She has survived Hannibal Lecter again.

Bedelia gazes at him and doesn’t flinch. He lets his eyes drift over her frame. There is not a scratch on her, he laments. And then she lifts the blanket off her leg and he takes in the stump. 

His breath is taken away. She must see the rage on his face, despite his face being a work-in-progress skin quilt. She crumbles a little bit. She has feelings, after all. 

“Hannibal,” he surmises.

“And Will Graham,” she corrects. “Just as Will is responsible for what happened to you.”

Jack has denied this fact, to protect the Bureau. Will hadn’t even bothered to defend himself. But Bedelia is confirming his thoughts, the voice that jeers at him even in his sleep. 

“He came to see me after you burned,” she reveals, indicating with her hand his face and body. “He knew he set you up. Just as he knew he would set Hannibal on me.”

Their bitterness is palpable. For a moment, his breath is taken away again. He forces himself to exhale. “He knew,” Frederick repeats, needing to let that soak in. Bedelia watches him factor in this piece into the patchwork of his skin grafts. He gains a modicum of control and takes her in.

“Why come after you, Dr. Du Maurier?”

“During his first escape, Hannibal made me flee at his side, a place Will Graham views strictly as his own,” she intones.

“Will Graham is married,” Frederick informs her, incredulously. 

“Yes, and Hannibal had Will’s wife attacked, no?” Bedelia watches as things click into place for Frederick. “So Will has Hannibal attack me…”

“Even steven,” he finishes.

Frederick lets the unspoken hang in the air. “He believes you were Hannibal’s wife?” 

“In every sense of the word,” she is defiant, even though her eyes betray her pain. 

“Are you certain he is having an affair with Will Graham?” Frederick picks at her scab, unable to help himself.

“I heard them, quite clearly, Dr. Chilton, at my house,” she shudders. “For the entire night, Will fucks him on my kitchen table, in my bed, on my couch, and on my floor. There is real heat in the fucking. Hannibal calls out in ecstasy, in the throes of orgasm, that Will is his lion, his king. And afterwards, Hannibal is too satiated to even bother eating me. They are madly in love.” 

Jesus. Christ. Frederick stares at her, stunned and hurt for her. She pulls his eyes away from his, her chin high, determined to maintain her dignity. 

“I never knew that Hannibal…” he trails off, his mind blown. 

“Hannibal defies labels,” Bedelia explains. “His bisexuality is just another segment of his person suit. I can’t even be certain he felt anything when he made love to me. If anything, he identifies more as a character out of Jane Eyre.”

Frederick laughs genuinely for the first time in ages. He refuses to see that he is just a mindless player in Hannibal’s sick romantic comedy. An apex predator disguised as a Victorian era woman searching for home and family and love. And then slowly the laugh fades away. Bedelia waits for him to settle down.

“Remember now, Frederick? Her allure was her autonomy, her freedom, her sense of alienation.”

He recalls his English lit courses and fills in some gaps. “She was orphaned. Exiled. Ostracized by her aunt. But desires a kindred spirit.”

“He views Will as his intellectual equal. And their bond is true and has withstood the test of time. That is Hannibal’s profile. That is how you will find him.”

“And what about Will Graham’s?” Frederick could not resist asking. Bedelia’s jealousy oozed off of her and jealousy makes her cruel.

“Will Graham is a big boy to be fucking his daddy, even if he is Southern,” she replies. “What you choose to pursue from here is up to you.”

“Did you tell Jack this?” Frederick finds himself asking.

“How much more humiliation must I suffer,” she spits back. “I told them nothing. I asked to be transported here. To find you.”

She looks at him fully. 

“Jack and Alana failed us, Frederick,” she whispers. “Hannibal pined for Will Graham like a girl out of a Bronte novel. There were love letters. And Will answered eventually. They knew.”

“They knew,” Frederick echoes. 

“A leg for a leg,” she smiles, finally. “You can have the rest of him.”

“And what about Will Graham? What shall we do about him?”

There is a long pause, as they both considered. 

“We hunt together,” she tells Frederick, “and we devour him the instant we find him.”

His orderly has returned to retrieve him. Frederick is forced to cut it short. But he lingers near her, considering her offer. 

He holds his blotchy, discolored hand out and lightly touches the top of her hand. Their eyes meet. It may take some time for him to heal, but he will hold his end of the agreement. She accepts this, and he goes, with a reason to tolerate the unbearable pain and live to fight another day.

+++

They have been traveling together for a few years and they are not getting tired of each other. 

He is slender and elegant, in a white shirt and pale linen pants. She is a head-turner, raising an admiring glance in whatever crowd she is in. Her hair cascades in a shapely platinum sheath over one eye, demure as the film sirens from the Hollywood classics, or an homage to Dr. Du Maurier. 

Her lips are painted coral and jewels wink in her ears and on her neck. Her carriage makes her seem taller and more muscular than her gentleman.

They are looking for a pleasant gallery in the back alleys of Rio and they find the grand opening party in the courtyard outside. 

The art critic calls her Lillian and calls him Hersh. They are the Cristobals. Lillian’s Spanish is more European than South American. She is an up and coming painter and her art is on display. 

Frederick takes a seat in the very back. He does not want to be seen, as he suspects this couple to be Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter. 

“But the reason I became,” Lillian plunges into the pretentious art conversation with the critic, the audience enthralled, “why I’m creating…” and she trails off, looking at her Hersh. “Normal is not something to aspire to; it’s something to get away from.” The critic notes that she attributes her inspiration to her constant companion. Many necks crane to get a look at him and he tilts his head, shy.

The critic asks Hersh to define their relationship, but Hersh insists it is Lillian’s night. But even Lillian encourages him to speak. Hersh is definitely an American. “A friend is someone who adores you, even though they know the things you’re most ashamed of.”

Lillian and Hersh exchange a look and Lillian wipes a tear that threatens to course down her cheek. The art discussion continues, but Frederick tunes out.

He watches them interact afterwards. He is careful not to get too close, considering her sensitivity to smell. In his mind, he can hear Hannibal call him Burnt Chilton, lifting his nose to the wind and catching the smoke and stench of flesh that still hangs around him. He gazes briefly at the patch below this elbow that still awaits the last skin graft. Still holding out for Hannibal’s place in his patchwork of festive skin.

Hersh takes a champagne flute from a waiter’s tray and hands it to the lady and then takes a glass for himself. Frederick’s eyes flick over the woman’s face. Her high cheekbones, the beauty mark, in the position that the French called “Courage” specked beside her mouth. He traces the length of the woman’s exposed arms. They are bare and marked faintly along the wrists and flush with muscle tone. Her side boob, probably filled by hormone pills, is not obscene. Everything is tight and tasteful. He covers his crotch area with the program to hide his pleased assertion. 

The envelopment of Hannibal Lecter’s interest in the Dragon is not just a passing. His transition is almost complete. 

Hersh is concerned that the opening has taken a toll on his dearest friend. The art has been well-received. The audience’s questions had been thoughtful and full of praise. The crowd has shrunk around them and the gallery warns with a flicker of the lights that it is closing soon. 

“How are you feeling?” Hersh asks.

“I’m fine and better than fine,” Lillian whispers to him.

She pulls him into a little cubby and reaches her cupped hand into the deep neckline of her gown and frees her breast, quickly peaky in the open air. Looking always into his eyes, with her trigger finger, she took the champagne from her mouth and a thick sweet drop suspends from her nipple like a golden cabochon and trembles with her breathing. 

Frederick watches as Will bends his dark, sleek head swiftly and licks away the drop from her breast and then crushing her coral lips against his.

 

+++

 

A letter has arrived, bearing a name on it that he hasn’t seen in a long time. 

Addressed to H. Lecter.

Slipped under their door. 

Will holds it in his hand and looks around, suspicious. He grabs his sidearm and pops off the safety as he opens the door. 

It is just another beautiful day in Rio. His eyes scan the rooftops. The balconies. Windows. No one is around.

He moves quickly through the cottage and always notes there are way too many flowers in the house. And how right it is for Hannibal to arrange it so. They would need to get more when they went out to market in the evening. He rushes past the artist studio out back. Hannibal’s paintings are drying in the sunlight.

Will has been trained to never run in an office, especially when stressed, but he feels his heart pumping faster, his feet lifting higher off the ground. By the time he reaches Hannibal’s side, Hannibal can smell the fear on him. 

“Think I can have a kiss?” Hannibal asks him primly.

Hannibal covers Will’s panic with a kiss. They are at a medical resort and the patients surrounding them in the shaded pool area are very much in their own worlds, whether bandaged or drugged or both. 

Hannibal’s hair cascades down her shoulders, in a messy ponytail.

Her nails are long and manicured and slice open the envelope cleanly and easily. 

Hannibal reads the letter and then hands it to Will.

“My aunt has died,” Hannibal reads.

“It’s from Robertus,” Will glances over the letter, confirming. “I’m sorry, my love.”

He wraps his arms around Hannibal and scans the area once more. “I don’t want to see him, I don’t want to discuss this tomorrow,” Hannibal concedes. “But we have to deal with the probate attorney and the inheritance.”

They walk back to the house, distracted, and Hannibal glances at Will. “Why do you always tell him where he can find us?”

“You never know when we’ll need to get out of a bind,” Will states simply. “And he’s family, Lil.” 

“You’re my family,” Hannibal insists. 

Hannibal draws his face towards him so Will is forced to look into his eyes. “Did something happen with you and Uncle Robertus?” Hannibal asks.

Will pulls away, unable to even entertain Hannibal’s line of reasoning at times. Hannibal watches him go into the house, sensing trouble ahead.

 

+++

 

Hannibal dresses in pants and a simple button down shirt. For his uncle’s sake, he has pressed his breasts into a sport bra. If he is ever caught, he thinks irrationally for a moment, they can call it a clever disguise. But truthfully, this is how he sees himself, a blend of the masculine and feminine, and now it has manifested in the physical plane at last. 

He twines his hand in Will’s as they step into the elevator. The office tower that holds the probate attorney’s office also has a helicopter pad. Robertus is flying in to meet them. 

Hannibal leaves his long hair down though, and it catches in the wind as Robertus’ helicopter touches down on the roof. The familiar insignia of the Lecter crest is visible. 

Will approaches the door to help Robertus out and then stumbles back. He recognizes Frederick’s face through the “festive” ensemble of skin and he can almost taste his guilt. 

Hannibal watches Will scramble to his feet and then charge towards back towards him. They rush for the door, but it is locked.

“What is happening, Will?” Hannibal asks.

“I switched out helicopters with Robertus,” Frederick calls out. He watches as Will pushes Hannibal behind him, protectively, and faces Frederick. Will draws his gun. Across a neighboring building, snipers are positioned along the roofs training their lasers at all the kill points along Will’s body. Will can’t see them, but Hannibal does. Hannibal places her hand on Will’s gun. Will looks back at her, confused. Hannibal’s eyes flicker up at the rooftops and Will finally clocks the snipers around them.

“He helped rescue you from the cliff, but he hadn’t realized you had an affair with his wife all those years ago, before,” he looks over Hannibal’s curvier frame. “Switcheroo. Ballyhoo. Will, I wouldn’t move if I were you.” 

Hannibal recognizes the voice, gleeful. “Is that Frederick Chilton?” Chilton gives an amused nod. “In the flesh and blood of so many others and yet still going strong.”

Will would pay anything for Hannibal not to goad Frederick. But this is a losing battle.

“Can we be adults about this, Frederick?” Hannibal aims to be sweet. “I don’t like it when Will is threatened.”

“Then come with me, darling,” Frederick smiles, as saccharine as Hannibal. He holds out his hand. “I need a pound of flesh from you, to add to the patchwork.” 

Hannibal crosses to Frederick and takes his hand. Will remains at the door. “I haven’t been this far apart from Will in ages,” Hannibal jokes to him. “Shouldn’t he be coming with us? I’d very much like to make it a party.”

Hannibal looks back at Will, confident and calm. He wants Will to remember him this way.

“The trade doesn’t work like that. Robertus wants Will all to himself. Wants to finish whatever they started in Montreal. Apparently,” Frederick leans in closer to Hannibal, “Will has a thing for older men.”

Hannibal turns his face ever so slightly and gives Frederick his most murderous look imaginable. 

“Daddy issues,” Frederick twists the knife again, with another sweet smile. “Maybe when Robertus is done with him, I’ll get my turn. I always had a soft spot for Will.”

“I’m so glad you got in touch with yourself, Frederick. It’s so refreshing,” Hannibal murmurs, deadpan.

And then Frederick pricks a needle into his arm and Hannibal collapses in his arms. He can still hear Will’s screams over the roar of the helicopter engines. He almost feels sorry for Will as Bedelia’s thugs ram through the door and circle in on him.


	2. Deadly Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunt continues for Will Graham, thanks to an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for violence.

In the years during the disappearance of Will Graham, Reba McIntyre has never forgotten or given up on him. She firmly believes he had a hand in ridding the world of Francis Dolarhyde and did her a favor, as well as everyone else. She also insists, whenever she can get an audience with Jack Crawford, that Hannibal Lecter has kidnapped and brainwashed Will. Jack, in a fit of feeling sorry for her, reveals some information that the press never got a hold of – that Will went eyes wide open with Lecter. Will is not who she thinks he is. 

She returns home, wanders her house, and sits with that. It would be easy to see the worst in Will. But Will never saw the worst in Francis or even in her love for him. She keeps her “Missing – Have You Seen This Man?” posters updated every year and argues against the Most Wanted category he’s been given on the FBI website.

Reba gives an interview to anyone who will have her that Will’s record should not be ignored and assumptions about the aftermath of the Tooth Fairy investigation should not be made. The question ultimately returns to the attack on Bedelia Du Maurier, which makes her seem in denial of Will’s involvement with Lecter. Reba has been harassed and threatened and ridiculed, but she doesn’t care. Freddie Lounds once asked why she’s never given up, when Graham’s own wife threw in the towel and condemned Will long ago. 

“He is a good man,” she replies. 

Reba cannot say Will was a friend. She’d only met him once. But he’d taken the time to sit with her in the hospital. He had touched her shoulder, held her hand and told her nothing was wrong with feeling a connection. To Francis, to Will. After Francis, no one has bothered to do this. Shunning her, as if her love for the man said something about her. And maybe it did.

What she couldn’t say to Freddie is that Will kept his promise and checked in with her from time to time. He had seen the poster in some city apparently, giving her contact information. He had written for her not to worry about him. That he was happy and that she should stop searching. Told her to get on with her life. 

But inside the prepaid envelope with no return address, there is a ring. A simple gold wedding band with the inscription – “To my wife, Lydia, forever and always.”

There is also money. Money that gets her through a very difficult year when she could not get work. Because of Francis. Because of her determination to find the man who made him just a figment of a nightmare in her life and not the real thing.

She remembers that Hannibal Lecter had pretended to be married during his time in Italy. Lydia had been the women’s name. With a little more research, she is able to dig out that Lydia is actually Bedelia Du Maurier. The woman who insists that she was also brainwashed under Hannibal Lecter.

How did Will get her ring?

She presents the question and the ring to Jack Crawford. The sigh that he emits indicates this is just another year of pesky Reba never letting go what needs to be gone. She won’t let it go so easily. She won’t leave until someone looks in on Bedelia. 

“She knows,” Reba insists. “She knows where Will is.”

Watching her determination settles it for him. A whole department devoted to Will and Hannibal could not find him. Reba McIntyre may show them all up. It doesn’t matter whether she believes Will crossed the line with Lecter or not. 

He crosses into the forensic unit and sets Jimmy and Brian on what will more than likely be a paper trace to nowhere on the envelope. He heads to Bedelia’s most recent address himself.

Jimmy comes back with something interesting. Bedelia’s been traveling. Her passport has her in various ports in South America. She has just returned from Panama.

“And she was traveling with a very handsome man, despite the long scar down his face,” Jimmy reveals, pulling up port security. For Jack, the footage is too far away. Even with the technology to zoom in, it’s blurry. It could be Will, but…

“Why would Will travel with Bedelia without Hannibal?” Jack posits. It just doesn’t fit the profile that Hannibal would leave Will’s side. 

Without admitting to Reba that her lead may be true, Jack charms her into staying close. It’s getting late. He offers to set her up in the Quantico safe house where Miriam Lass and Freddie Lounds once stayed. The irony did not escape him. He walks Reba through the suite and points out where everything is.

As he’s leaving, Reba crosses the 10 steps to him and places her hand on his shoulder. “He’s here, isn’t he?” For a moment, Jack is taken off guard. Her eyes look through him, to his core. “He won’t have much time, Jack. Please. Don’t leave him to his own devices when he’s so close.” 

 

+++

Completely nude, Will Graham is deposited across from Bedelia Du Maurier by her thugs at her knees. He gets a glimpse of her prosthetic leg under her pencil skirt. If he didn’t know it was hers, he would have never known. 

Bedelia steps out for a moment and returns with a chainsaw. She sets it down between them and kicks his legs open. She gives him a once-over, impressed. 

“Consider this justice, Will,” Bedelia tells him when he finally looks up at her. “Choose what you’d like me to cut off below your waist. What you consider valuable, so to speak.”

“Bedelia, I’d be careful if I were you,” Will intones. “Hannibal will flip out if you put a mark on me.”

She smiles. She’s not afraid of Hannibal anymore. Will waits for her to give up where Hannibal is. 

“Do you really think Frederick is able to keep him away from me,” challenges Will. “Frederick is probably living out his fantasy with Hannibal now.”

“Taking your place? Frederick underneath Hannibal?”

“Better Frederick than you,” Will drills down, “bitch.”

Bedelia backslaps him. Crouched with his hands handcuffed behind his back, Will tumbles and flops to his side. He no longer has any fear. And life without Hannibal is not an option. He doesn’t want this to drag out. 

“I like it harder than that, Bedelia,” he shares. “Don’t hold back. Blood looks really good on me…”

 

“You shouldn’t tempt me,” Bedelia starts and then draws her gun across his face again. 

Will’s head reels back. Blood is flowing down his temple. Covering his teeth and lips. Dripping down his neck.

“Is this how Hannibal likes it with you?” she can’t resist asking. 

“Yes,” he smiles through the blood.

When she strikes him again, he crumbles, unconscious. Bedelia shakes him. “You will be awake for the rest.”

She circles him and then crosses to her mini-bar. She brings over a full cantor of bourbon and pours it over his lower body and then over the fresh cuts along his face. The sting shocks his eyes open. He gasps. 

She grasps his jaw and forces his mouth open. For a moment, she caresses his lips with her thumb. She pours the rest of the bourbon down his throat. 

“You can’t say I didn’t show you mercy,” she murmurs, her face close enough to give him a kiss. 

She pulls the string on the chainsaw and holds up the revving machine next to his face. He does not flinch, as they look at each other.

“You brought this on yourself, when you made your bed with Hannibal.” Will hears this from a faraway place. There is knocking upstairs. Movement from the sound of all of the footsteps. 

“I know,” he sighs. 

“Where shall I make the first cut?” she asks.

The door swings open and Bedelia looks up, annoyed at the thugs for interrupting her. 

“Just a minute,” she tells them. 

She reaches for Will’s neck and brings his gaze up to her. “Choose, Will,” she demands.

For a moment, Jack hesitates. He stands upstairs, near the door to the basement. He knows he heard her correctly. He looks at the man on the stairs, blocking his way. 

The man posted near the front door seems uncertain. 

“FBI,” he announces, drawing his weapon. He watches as the men get out of his way and he steps onto the landing for the basement stairs. “Bedelia,” he calls out. “How did Will Graham end up in your hands?”

Will and Bedelia look up at the same time as Jack marches down the stairs. 

“Not now, Jack,” she says and returns to the task at hand. “He’s been brainwashed and drugged and I can straighten him back to the way he was.“

Jack charges Will as the blade comes down on Will’s thigh, barely missing taking out chunks of flesh. Instead, the chainsaw kicks back and the blade scatters down Bedelia’s leg. Chunks of prosthetic spray everywhere. Jack is thrown back by the shrapnel and comes face to face with Will, stunned. He’s older. His hair is lighter, his skin sun-kissed. Two scars line his face. But it’s the scar Hannibal made in Jack’s presence that confirms it for him. Reba was right. 

They can hear the thugs upstairs flee. Jack reaches for his cellphone, calling for backup. When he gets his bearings, he finally turns to Will.

“Where is Hannibal?” Jack asks.

“Let me go, Jack,” Will replies. “I don’t want to have to kill you.”

Jack lunges for him and brings Will into a chokehold. Will presses his neck up against Jack’s collarbone. His eyes flicker over to Bedelia. And then it clicks for him. He reaches for her and yanks her to her feet.


	3. The Hold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is taken in by Jack.

What Bedelia had said may be true. Will could be another Miriam Lass and was being brainwashed or suffering under Stockholm Syndrome with Lecter. Part of the reason he had never given up on finding Will was because of Miriam. He couldn’t have another broken pony on his conscience. So he has endured the constant humiliations and demotions after the Dragon case for the sole purpose of finding Will and capturing Lecter. He doesn’t claim to understand Will. But Jack is determined to find him, if, on the off chance, Will didn’t go willingly. 

 

Will is waiting in the back of his SUV, handcuffed. An agent has found his clothes, which are too thin and airy for the approaching D.C. winter. Jack climbs inside and hands Will a blanket. A peace offering. From the set of his jaw, Jack can tell he may get in one question before Will goes completely silent. His question had better be good. He considers his options. He soaks in Will, who still has room left for many scars apparently. He doesn’t want to inflict much more. He reaches out to touch the latest on Will’s face. The contact surprises Will, who flinches back.

 

“You get close to these men and they leave their mark,” Jack sighs.

 

Will braces himself for Jack’s onslaught. He never expected Jack to stop looking. But he wonders if Jack truly is ready to see him. Will wonders if he’s truly ready to be seen, especially through Jack’s lens. No one will forgive him or claim to understand why he disappeared with Hannibal Lecter. He wraps the blanket tighter around him, his new chrysalis, and waits for Jack to gather his thoughts. 

 

“Talk to me, Will. When did you fall in love with Hannibal?” Jack asks. 

 

It’s a simple question. Will is startled by it. Not what he expected. Especially from Jack. He considers the man. He is dressing younger. He’s thinner. Still without a wedding ring. Maybe he’s gotten a second chance at love and is at least trying to understand.

 

“Fair enough,” Will concedes, his mind already swinging back in time. It is like reflecting back on his own death, his time with Hannibal having such a impact.  
His defenses break down. His face cracks a half-smile. He has been thinking of nothing but Hannibal, but he comes to rest on a good memory. 

 

“I fell in love with Hannibal,” Will admits, “when he saved Abigail Hobbs’ life.” 

 

“That was early on.”

 

“My memories are clear,” Will swallows with a nod. “I didn’t know it at the time… or would even admit it to myself. I wasn’t thinking of throwing myself at him or anything like that, but I was touched by what he’d done. He stayed with her in the hospital. He was a committed presence in her life and I admired that. I didn’t identify what I was feeling until…”

 

He catches himself, not meaning to speak for so long. Jack will only use this against him. He was innocent then. Even now, he is overwhelmed by the wave of love he feels for his former self and Abigail before Hannibal revealed his true intent. Hannibal had been such a force in their lives.

 

“Until…?” Jack prods him and Will pulls himself from his reverie.

 

“Until the night we found Silvestri harvesting organs in the back of the ambulance.”

 

Jack nods, remembering. Will continues, “I felt a pang of it then. I chalked it up to friendship, but it was another ache that kept me up at night, needling me to acknowledge it.”

 

“I see. That’s why you could never kill him. Your love for him was greater,” Jack surmises. 

 

Will nods and a peace settles between them. He had owed Jack an explanation, and it was taken without judgment. Will gazes out the tinted window, his mind drifting towards Hannibal now. He can always find him in their shared memory palace, wandering through the rooms. This time he lands outside the ambulance of the Silvestri case, sidestepping the rush of the paramedics, who retrieve Hannibal’s patient to take him to the hospital, and draws closer to Hannibal. He takes in the bloody gloves and Hannibal snaps them off. He looks so calm, despite having just performed surgery. In contrast, Will’s heart is beating wildly in his chest. They glance over at Jack, meeting their gaze with a congratulatory nod. “This was a good night for us,” Will observes, soaking in the scene. Hannibal waits until Will glances at him. His gaze seems to bore right into the double meaning, into Will’s racing heart beating so loud he can hear it. Hannibal, sensing Will’s new openness, hums in agreement, “It was.”

 

When Will drifts out of the memory palace at last, he is seated next to Reba. They are in a holding cell in Quantico. She finds his hand and clutches them together. 

 

“Will,” she says, grounding him. 

 

Will shudders, his ride to Quantico with Jack a blur. “Reba, you looked everywhere for me.” 

 

“You were lost, Will. You needed to be found.” 

 

He takes in her face and squeezes her hand. “I was fine,” he insists. “I was better than fine. I was loved and loving. I was happy.”

 

“Would you have left me to my own devices with Francis?”

 

He hesitates. 

 

“Then how could I have left you?” Reba finishes.

 

“It’s different with Hannibal.”

 

“How? Bedelia said you were his slave.”

 

Will has to chuckle at that. 

 

“They are manipulating you to keep me apart from him,” Will warns her. “And whatever Hannibal and I are, I know this: we cannot be kept apart.”

 

Reba doesn’t let him pull away from her. “You’re confused about that, Will. You’re not a cannibal! You’re not a killer!”

 

“But I am, “ Will says, softly. 

 

“Hannibal’s conditioned you to do these things.”

 

“No, Reba, we came to an agreement for my sake.”

 

She trembles at that. Then: “I’m standing for the man I once met,” she resolves.

 

“That’s not who I am anymore,” Will insists. “Jack can’t hold me indefinitely. I need to make a phone call. Please, Reba.”

 

He takes her hands and cups her fingers against his scar. “This is what Francis left me with. I never expected to survive him. But I have. Let me have my life.”

 

Reba’s fingertips glide over the smooth skin. She buries her face against his neck. She doesn’t want to give up on what she believes. They are at an impasse. 

 

“This is about you, Reba, not me,” Will presses her. “Have you been able to pick up the pieces and live since Francis died?”

 

He scans her face, searching for the truth as she composes her answer. 

 

“Have you, Reba?”

 

“I’ve survived, but I haven’t moved on,” she confesses. “You wanted to save Francis once. You thought you could reach the man that was still worth saving. That’s all I’m trying to do with you. Please, Will, let us try.” 

 

Will looks up and sees Alana enter. It’s a testament for how far he has come in his becoming that he can look Alana in the eye, as much as it pains him. When he rises, he brings Reba with him. He wonders, briefly, if Hannibal would mind if she joined them in Rio. Like his former patient Franklyn, Hannibal would gather that she’s attracted to killers. They could be good for her.

 

Alana wants to unload her wrath on Will, but with Reba there, she remains in control. She has the resources to wait out the FBI and their fumbling investigation. 

 

“Jack is bringing all of his big guns out,” Will observes. 

 

“Guilt used to go a long way with you,” Alana spits back.

 

“You should be thanking me, Alana,” he refuses to back down. “I have contained him from keeping his promise to you. Maybe I should rethink that.”

 

“Don’t threaten me,” she hisses.

 

“Your family, the agents that work with Jack, even Reba, are as good as dead if you don’t let me go to him. All of the running that I’ve done, the life that I built with Hannibal, was to protect you. I knew that if I didn’t, you would be as good as dead.”

 

Alana stares at him, frozen, assessing if there’s truth in this. He turns to the 2-way mirror behind Alana and scoops them both in his arms.

 

“Jack,” he faces the mirror and sees his reflection in the glass. “I love Hannibal, but I’ve never forgotten you. I stayed with him for your safety and now you’re endangering everyone. Chilton won’t be able to hold him the way I did.”

 

Reba looks at Will, fully. This is the man she has fought for. Somewhere inside, Will has remained true. 

 

“Let me make my phone call, Jack,” Will demands, firmly. 

 

+++

 

Hannibal’s backside is exposed on the surgical table. A nurse, clad in burgundy scrubs, wipes the skin down with solution and a doctor follows with a marker to indicate the cuts he’ll make to the skin for the graft transfer to take place. He pauses around the brand that still coats the center of Hannibal’s back and exchanges a look with the nurse. After checking the restraints, they step out of the room to bring in the rest of the surgical team gathering beyond the emergency bay. Two guards remain with their guns drawn at this mystery patient.

 

Chilton rests on the surgical table next to Hannibal’s and glances over at him. “No anesthesia for you, Hannibal. It would be a waste considering you don’t feel pain the way we feel it, Hannibal,” Chilton reflects. “Always in a class of your own. But if there’s even a remote chance that this hurts you, I am willing to take those odds.”

 

“You can’t hurt me, Frederick,” Hannibal sneers. 

 

“I will. We’ll celebrate my new skin graft afterwards with a feast. The main dish of course being Will Graham. Plenty of time to think on that, my friend,” Chilton smiles. He lets the drugs do the work as he looks at the storm raging in Hannibal’s eyes. Everything has been worth it, just to see that look. The surgical team re-enters and Chilton watches as they gather over Hannibal. His eyes glimmer that this time that he dreamed of for so long has finally arrived.

 

+++

 

Robertus appears on the other side of the plexiglass. He lifts the phone as Will is escorted by a guard to sit across from him. 

 

“We need Chiyoh,” Will starts, grasping for anything. 

 

Robertus sits back, unable to meet Will’s gaze. “I can’t,” he starts. 

 

“I don’t care what I have to do in exchange for you to change your mind, but Robertus,” he pounds on the plexiglass. “Help us. I’m begging you.”

 

He has never seen Will so desperate. He’s beautiful to behold. No wonder Hannibal had wanted to watch him unravel so long ago. 

 

“I found my wife’s diaries when I was going through her effects,” Robertus explains. “Hannibal had an affair with her when he was young. He betrayed me, Will.”

 

Will takes a deep breath and his hand outstretches to the plexiglass. “Robertus, it was a long time ago,” he says, gently. 

 

Robertus shakes his head. “Not to me. She took the secret to her grave. Hannibal never gave me the courtesy of explaining to me why he stayed away all these years. It all makes sense now.”

 

“It was truly your letterhead and your chopper that was used to capture us,” Will realizes.

 

“Yes,” Robertus nods. “I know where Chilton took him, but I’m afraid if I go, I’ll kill Hannibal myself, Will.”

 

Will’s hand sinks, defeated. “I’d rather you do it than Chilton.”

 

“What will you give me in return?”

 

“Whatever you want,” Will says, incredulous.

 

“You for him.”

 

Will sighs. “Gladly.”

 

“My lawyer will draft up the agreement. We’ll bail you out of custody as soon as the FBI admits you’re here.”

 

Robertus rises and Will springs to his feet with him. Without another word, Robertus turns away and leaves. The guard draws Will towards the doors and Will blindly places one foot in front of the other, reeling.

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure how many chapters. But will update within 3 days.


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